At this point, the ceremony held the usual litany of intense emotional spewings, a smattering of cosmic visions, loads of profound lessons, and the added (bonus) of some seriously critical brain-sourced judgments and critiques. There were times my head was so full of screaming dialogue, I thought I might drown in the negativity.
But this is poetic, I knew, because of my intention – kill that bloody ego.
An intention that, in retrospect (and if I’m being honest, even in the moment it was declared) was not so inspired. Still, I had the experience I needed.
My internal fight had risen to a crescendo. The not-so-little ego had identified her target, and as I previously mentioned, she just wasn’t going down in a peaceful fashion. The boxing gloves were merged into my consciousness, and I felt paralyzed by the back and forth battle – the anger and hissing judgment juxtaposed with the higher self acceptance. Only the higher self stayed mostly out of it, in the later moments – I was on my own to revel in this incredibly dark and negative barrage of venomous words.
I kept marveling at my ego’s tenacity, but getting lost in the frustration and perceived failure. Immersed and floundering, I begged for a release – a letting go, in any form. It came from a surprising vision / visitation. Ayahuasca took me back to my very early childhood. I was two again, a tiny being trapped in an oxygen tent, and because my lungs were full of fluids and my body temperature was so sky-high, they wouldn’t let another soul touch me for fear of a heated overload. I felt myself in that secluded state, ravaged by this illness, and staring out the clear tent walls to see my mother. She peered at me with desperation and pain. I wanted those arms I spied – a womb of safety. I screamed my protests, begging to feel her touch, to be comforted and scooped out of this isolation. But no comfort came. Nothing but sterility and solitude, coupled with the intrusive glances of strangers and family that could not do anything but look. And pray.
Why am I here? I wondered with a demanding surge. As if I didn’t have enough to battle internally, now I felt submerged in complete loneliness and abandonment. Then, however, the voice came – that wise, velvety, glorious higher self / Ayahuasca voice.
She told me the simple truth – that the fight I felt in the present moment – the ego’s heroic showdown of force and presence – was the very same vivaciousness that kept me alive during those childhood death-dances. I almost perished in that memory; I could feel how close to leaving my body I really was. And instead, I fought to stay. My ego’s glorious survival instincts kept me tethered to this reality, and I found myself feeling insanely grateful for her maddening strength.
It was precisely the revelation Ayahuasca had been waiting for – the acceptance of this ego’s power, not the resistance. I felt my internal battleground dissipate a bit – it morphed into something more akin to a debate, and less like a war. I could breathe a little deeper, and listen a whole lot closer. This was the shift in the wild ride that would allow the transmissions to land in my emotional and higher selves, as my mind had relaxed enough to trust the process once again.
The rest of the night would be wrapped in a veil of blankness. I was in the experience of feeling, but received little else in the way of lessons and awakenings. I did not mind. I had passed the terror stage again and found a little serenity – I only felt grateful for the chance to just be.
In the final hours, I allowed myself to play in the room a bit, and really get lost in the music. I marveled with sincere awe at the entirely unique journeys every beloved in the room confronted. I could feel with subtle certainty where everyone was in this cosmic unraveling, and there remained zero doubt that many felt monstrous struggles, while others were finding their bliss. I thanked Ayahuasca for the perfection of every story. And once again, connected with my sincere adoration for this crazy, beautiful path.
At times, I rose up and danced out my expressions, utilizing the open space outside of the circle to let my body take control. Thoughts completely disappeared, save the occasional egoic concern that people were watching. Even if they were, I (mostly) didn’t care – I enraptured myself in the movements, the unity with the awesome music the shaman created with his myriad of instruments. Those were my only pure moments of happiness during the actual ceremony, but to be true, they were more than enough.
I ended the night with thoughts of Orion, sending him my love and gratefulness for his tangible presence. I simply couldn’t wait for our reunion the next day. The talking circle formed when the ceremony ended, and I had little to say. I verbalized a bit of my experience, and acknowledged that my birthday had officially landed at midnight that eve. The rest of me attempted to listen to everyone else’s amazing journeys (although that is always made challenging by my hearing loss – oy.)
When I finally found the right moment to steal away to the bedroom, a present sat waiting on my cell. 8 text messages from Orion, revealing yet another miracle from the evening’s events. These would uplift me in unnamable ways – as would the treasured Best Friend bonding that awaited. More on that very soon 
